


5 Times Chirrut Almost Gets to Kiss Baze And The 1 Time He Does

by Arghnon



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: 5+1, Aggressively will catch up with you Chirrut, Love at First Sight, M/M, Pre-blindness Chirrut, chirrut hears the force loud and clear, it is the worst wingman, space monks almost kiss a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 15:58:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10539777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arghnon/pseuds/Arghnon
Summary: That time when the Force keeps telling Chirrut to kiss Baze but never actually does.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vaenire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaenire/gifts).



> This is a combination of three of your prompts! (Kinda)
> 
> I am not really a writer but here is 7k words that I wrote and hopefully they make you even a little bit happy because your writing makes me super happy???? Always????
> 
> A lot of names I made up in this to sound space-y with no research whatsoever, I just like the sounds of the names. If they are actual names of things and/or are offensive in nature please do tell and I will edit.
> 
> Unbeta'd so five million mistakes that I will be finding in the next few days.

The winds were starting to blow harder. Some of the other acolytes and initiates were wearing their vests underneath their robes. But Chirrut always ran hot, and the beating of the Sun’s heat balanced the chill, in his opinion.

He felt like running. It was good weather for running.

Or maybe the urge came from the feel of the unfamiliar robes wrapped around him. When his parents had decided their most middle and most delinquent of children should be sent to the temple, free clothing was not expected though very welcome. And the cloth was light but thick enough to be much warmer than his usual scratchy tunics. He knows if he runs right now, there will be no restrictions to his movements. The cloth would swish around him and there would be just enough leeway to feel the breeze on his skin.

Or it could be how loud the courtyard was. Initiates getting lost, the crowds of families and friends saying their farewells and acolytes trying to gather and guide. It was as loud as the marketplaces back home.There was something louder about the courtyard though. He couldn't quite place it but it made his ears ring. It felt like they could almost bleed with the strength of this sound he can't quite hear but hears too much of. His body sings of the need to run straight into the centre of it.

It's not the first time he's felt some sort of song buzzing through him but this is definitely the strongest time. Strong enough that it makes his vision blur and he's moving before he knows it. He's running straight through the mass of black robes and white and yellow sashes.

His entire body is absolutely screaming in delight at the feel of the wind, of his robes, of the sound ringing through him. He doesn't hear the indignant shrieking as he dodges flailing arms and skirts between groups of people. It feels good to run. It feels great.

Up until he runs right into someone and then he's tumbling into red sand, pulling down his victim on top of himself. They both land in a small puff of sand. The body on top of him was heavy enough to force a huff of air out of him.

He groaned as the weight shifted off his chest. He opened his eyes to see a curtain of curly hair tied tightly in braids and strands of cloth framing a soft concerned face. He watched slim lips form apologies he couldn't hear. He was too focused on the feel of this person’s breath against his face, as close as they were to his own. And his body was ringing again, telling him to angle his head and close the short distance between them-

“Acolyte Malbus! Initiate! Are you alright?”

His world spun as a large hand grabbed hold of his and hauled him up easily. He stumbled forward before he righted himself to fully see the person he charged into.

He was small, about the same height as Chirrut, but he must have been heavy boned from how hard he landed on top of him. His robes the stark black of the temple and his sash a slightly orange yellow. He gave Chirrut a polite apologetic smile before bowing his head to the tall woman in front of them who Chirrut didn't realise had been talking this entire time.

The ringing was still there, somehow louder but all it told Chirrut now was to stay where he was, looking right at the acolyte.

Chirrut had to strain himself to hear the elder speak, only catching "since you've already met" and "Acolyte Malbus" and "introduce yourselves." The last one was followed by a pointed pause. It took so long for Chirrut to realize it was an order that the other boy went first. Despite the still present song, he heard him loud and clear.

"Welcome to the Temple, I am Acolyte Baze Malbus." Chirrut sharply nodded in acknowledgement, eyes not leaving the boy even once.

"I am Chirrut Imwe. Thank you for having me."

Baze showED him around the temple after realizing that Chirrut had no luggage at all besides the light bag slung across his shoulder. He showed him the various courtyards for sparring and meditating and playing, the halls for lectures and sermons and dining and the kitchens. The kitchens, a place commonly known to initiates and acolytes as a place for punishment in the form of dish duty and cooking. It was, however, preferable to sweeping the courtyards of leaves, a fruitless task as leaves fall every thirty seconds or so.

The song still sang in the temple. Some areas had it louder and some much softer but the song wass much more noticeable here than in any other place Chirrut has ever been before. It was even stranger, that regardless of how loud any one place is, Baze's voice would always cut through the hum of it.

It saddened him when they part at the stairs to the dorms of the initiates. He watched Baze's back as he walked down to the floors of the lower acolytes. It's no problem though. He will catch up and become an acolyte before the first Round of the Moon.

 

At least, he tried his best to. It was much harder to travel through such a loud place without Baze around. He was clumsy against the uneven tile floors and the crowds of students. It was hard to listen to lectures of scripture when the song filled his ears and body. He found it difficult to concentrate when the hum told him to find something, someone. To find Baze.

He gave in, eventually. There's no point fighting it if it won't let him do anything else. And find Baze he did. And he did again. And he kept doing so. Eventually he followed him as a newly born sivmer would follow its father. He would walk with him through the halls and it was like no grace had ever left him. He would study with Baze and the ringing would lessen enough for him to focus. His very presence eased the itch that dug under Chirrut’s skin to flit about the temple hallways and follow the song to it’s source.

It also helped that he could bombard Baze with questions. Questions about the temple and the scriptures. About the Elders and the Acolytes. About the Force. About Baze.

Those were questions Baze would shrug off the most. He confessed that there's not much about him to talk about. Born and raised in the Temple, this life was all he’d ever known.

Baze's favourite questions were about the Force. He could talk hours upon hours of what teachings and theories he had learnt of the Force. Most of it went over Chirrut's head but the way Baze's face would fill with excitement at the thrill of simply speaking of this large unseen power guiding the universe was a wonderful sight to see.

"Can you feel the Force?" Chirrut had asked once and was answered with a smile and nod.

"I feel it flow around me like a heavy breeze but mostly I feel it here," he pointed to his chest, "It sounds like a story but I really do. I feel it like a pressure on my heart. Though sometimes it also leaves my heart weightless. Do you get it?"

He paused and Chirrut swore on Elder Pivbar's beard that Baze's cheeks flushed.

"I'm sorry, I can't really explain it," but Chirrut waved it off and told him he did a great job regardless.

Baze was not always there to watch over Chirrut though. Their classes were not the same since Baze was an Acolyte, already practicing the different forms of zama-shiwo and learning scriptures of a higher level. So Chirrut was left alone to fall into trouble. Such as picking fights with other initiates when they laugh at him tripping over his own feet. He lost, miserably, but it's with great pride that he managed to break their nose with a mean right hook.

Baze, as his mentor had to supervise his punishment. He met him at the doorway to the kitchens, bruised and bandaged. Chirrut smiled at him with dried blood on his lips.

His punishment was to make five batches of nougats for the next day. By the third batch of nougats, his robes hung from his waist as he stirred the massive bowl of meringue round and round. He could feel the sweat bead on his chest and his arms strained with the effort. He was deliriously tired and the temple song sung louder and louder the more exhausted he became.

It was clear Chirrut alone would not be able to finish before sun down and so Baze now stood beside him struggling with his own bowl. Baze was now entering more intense martial arts lessons and the training definitely showed in his current physique. It took massive effort for Chirrut not to stop and stare at his mentor's arm muscles flexing and moving beneath his skin with each stir. Massive enough that he did stop and stare and realized only when Baze turned and grasped his shoulder in concern.

"Are you alright, Chirrut?" he asked, startling Chirrut from his reverie. He nodded violently in response.

"Y-yes. It’s just...the...the seeds! I'm done so. The seeds. I'll get the seeds! For the mixture." and he turned and a catastrophe happened. 

He tripped on a jutted stone from the floor and grabbed the edges of the tray of the baked seeds and dried fruits. The massive trays flipped and their contents flew and Chirrut, once more, fell. The trays landed with a loud clang onto the stone floor at either side of Chirrut. Baze was running towards him and found the initiate on the floor in a pile of pastib seeds and dried croosher fruits, looking sheepish with a tray covering his shoulder.

For a brief second Chirrut thought he would scold him before Baze bursted into a laughter. It's a heavy deep sound that rang through the usual song that sang in Chirrut's bones. He wanted to hear it again immediately after Baze's laughter died down.

His mentor shook his head as he squatted to the floor. With a hand he lifted Chirrut into a sitting position and breathed out a chuckle.

"What in the name of the Force am I going to do with you, Chirrut Imwe? I can't leave you for a second without trouble," he laughed.

"Then obviously the answer is to never leave my side," Chirrut blurted.

Baze's grip on Chirrut's wrist loosened and his jaw slackened. He stared wide eyed at him and Chirrut was not sure if he regretted his loose tongue or not.

Then the grip tightened once more and a smile grew on Baze's face.

"I won't." And Chirrut's vision was suddenly filled with green seeds and dried fruit.

When he could see again, it's to the sight of Baze getting to his feet, laughing at his plight. Chirrut grabbed his own handful of seeds and fruits from the floor and tossed them at Baze's face in retaliation. The other boy laughed as he scooped and returned blows of toppings at Chirrut before slipping on some squished fruits and falling back down. Chirrut tried to get up, cackling at the sight of his mentor flopping onto his back in resignation. He's caught off guard when a hand grabbed his ankle and he went down again onto his side right next to the culprit who chucked another handful of green and red at his face.

They both laughed, full heartedly and covered in bits of red and green and crushing more seeds and fruits underneath their shaking bodies. Chirrut was filled with adrenaline and the sight of his friend laughing along with him, the deep sound of his laughter echoing around the kitchen, it had him leaning forward as their laughter died down and he swore Baze did too. It could have been his imagination but it didn't quite matter because he will do it. He will kiss Baze Malbus and nothing will stop-

"Initiate! Acolyte! What is this mess?"

Nevermind.

 

He has learnt much about the Force within the year, from Baze and his Master, Elder Qavnah. She was the one who had assigned Baze as his mentor and she was the one who helped him realise that the songs that rang through his bones and skin, was the Force itself.

A lot of time was spent meditating, learning the very basis of zama-shiwo, the separation of senses. When it came to hearing, Chirrut had so much difficulty that he eventually confessed his situation to her. That there was this sound already there, blurring whatever else he could hear. It took some more time after that before Elder Qavnah had interrupted the Mid-Morning Sermon to pull him out and excitedly explain that what he had been listening to, was in fact, the Force.

It made sense to him, that it was loudest in the Temple and at the caves at the edges of his hometown, that it told him with no voice or much room to argue on what to do, it put everything into perspective. He trained to push the song backwards to much better focus on his surroundings. He also trained to separate the different hums, to recognise which ones were the air of the temple and which ones were from his fellow initiates and which ones were the kyber crystal vein singing from hundreds of feet below the city.

It took him a week to realize that the deep low thrum that had always cut through the rest was from Baze Malbus.

After his Trial of Hearing, the rest of the Sensory Trials went by in a breeze. Now that he could separate the strings of sound, he could focus more sharply and every other sense was clearer than before. The hums no longer overwhelmed him to the point of stumbling. He could move and stride as he used to at home now even without being by Baze's side.

Chirrut reached the level of the Lower Acolyte within two years, a half year short of a Round of the Moon.

As Chirrut’s mentor and for lack of space, Baze shared his dorm with him. Now an Acolyte, neither Lower or Higher, Baze had a larger room fit for two. He did not hesitate to offer it to Chirrut when he learnt of Chirrut’s promotion. He met him at his doorway with a bag slightly fuller than when he first came to the Temple.

It had some additions such as his new yellow Acolyte sash and his old white Initiate one, a new set of black robes and an inner vest, a third-hand holopad, and various souvenirs Baze had brought back from his assignments. There were the purple rocks of the Western Oasis, a bone carved doll from the Dune Riders and a starbird pendant from the Annual Market. Chirrut liked to line them out in front of him when the Force sung too loudly and his body felt like a string pulled too tight, he would feel them with his hands and his eyes closed. It anchored him to feel the sharp edges of the rocks and carvings dig into his palm and the cool smooth surface of the pendant sweep beneath his fingers.

Baze let him in with a bright smile. He showed him the foldable tables on one side of the room, where the mats and clothes were stored on the same side, and the bed. The only bed in the room.

It's large enough to fit the both of them, Baze assured him, but Chirrut knew that it would fit them and little else. His face heated at the thought of sleeping side by side with Baze so tightly. He's already imagining the warmth of him so close at night and he's not sure how well he would sleep.

He suggested a bunk bed, instead.

“You say the Force is loud in your ears. What if you fall at night when the song is louder?”

“Well then, all is as the Force wills it.”

“Chirrut.”

“Alright, no bunk beds. We must share a bed, then.”

Baze smiled, “All is as the Force wills it.”

Chirrut unpacked with a slight tremor to his fingers. He was anxious about being so close to his, with lack of a better word, crush. It's exciting and it's terrifying. He hasn't made a move to be more than the friends that they are despite Chirrut's mounting frustrations. This would only add to his very tall pile of Baze-centred frustrations.

“We don't need to touch. There's little space but it's still there,” Baze stated, breaking the nearing tense silence as they both faced the bed.

The Force sang almost pleased through his bones. He cursed it. For all it’s pressuring, the Force was a terrible wingman.

Baze made a move to say something else but Chirrut cut him off by all but jumping on the bed. He slipped the pillow from beneath his head and brought it into his arms for a hug. He stared at Baze, an eyebrow cooked in an almost challenge, smiling wide. He hoped he couldn’t see how his fingers held the pillow a little too tightly.

Baze laughed that wonderful deep laugh and slipped onto the bed more smoothly than Chirrut did. He tucked himself beneath the covers right next to Chirrut.

He had known theoretically how much space would be left but feeling his mentor so close to him, his heat and the hum of him radiating almost against Chirrut’s skin. He wriggled to turn and face Baze and their noses brush.

A giggle bursted out of him from the sheer giddiness of being so near Baze and seeing that wonderful smile up close. The hand that gently clasped his forearm with a light sweep of a large thumb across his skin was not expected. Nor was the gentle press of Baze’s forehead against his, a chuckle to match Chirrut’s small burst. His breath was so warm and brushed over Chirrut’s own lips reminiscent of the first time they met.

It happened too fast and too much for Chirrut that he did nothing at all when Baze turned onto his other side and evened out his breathing into sleep. He stared at the other boy’s broader back in shock. His face was on fire and he curled his hands across his face to not smile so hard, to not let the happiness leak into an outright laugh.

He fell asleep watching Baze’s back rise and fall with each breath. He woke up from the best sleep he's had since he arrived at the temple, head tucked under Baze’s chin, their arms wrapped tightly around each other and the realization that Baze could have simply slept at the top of a bunk bed, if he had been so worried about Chirrut falling.

Chirrut didn't mention it though.

 

Being able to hear the Force had its perks. It was hard to separate the different threads and he meditated whenever he could even if it's no more than a few minutes to continuously practice in sorting out the mess of sound that rings through him. But it was very much worth it in a fight.

Sparring came naturally to him. Elder Baffad had laughed that he was “built for a fight.” Chirrut took it as a compliment.

Hearing the Force helped. He could hear his opponent tense and decide a move. If he closed his eyes he could hear their thread louder in the direction they've chosen to attack. It made dodging easier and countering quicker.

Of course he couldn't fight so well without learning the forms either. He trained all the forms of zama-shiwo that were taught and searched for more in the scriptures archived into his holopad. He even visited the actual library once or twice. He sparred every chance he got, almost as much as he meditated.

He spent his mornings meditating until Baze was ready for a quick spar. They were both such early risers that the Sun would envy their promptness. It made for more time to spend before classes and sermons started.

It didn't take long before he could throw Baze onto the mat with ease. Even weeks later, Baze still gave a breathless laugh each time Chirrut won, his eyes sparkling with something that got Chirrut heating up and stuttering for another round.

It wasn't for lack of trying that Baze lost, Chirrut was sure because for how many times Chirrut has won, Baze had won almost just as many times. Baze had also grown so fast Chirrut felt he blinked and missed a year or so. He was no longer the small boy Chirrut had met at the Main Courtyard almost a Round of the Moon ago. He had filled out in the best of ways in Chirrut’s unbiased opinion. It left even less space on the bed than before not that either of them were complaining.

And Chirrut sometimes wondered why. Baze must not appreciate the amount of times Chirrut had drooled into the tangle of Baze’s hair throughout the night. The extra warmth made the cold nights more bearable he guessed.

It didn't need saying that Chirrut had caught up completely to Baze in terms of zama-shiwo. Both of them were on the fourth Duan. Theories on the other hand, Chirrut was lagging but only slightly. He thought if he asked for an earlier exam, he could level with Baze completely and they would both reach Higher Acolyte status together. The thought made him all the more determined.

Right now though, it was the Annual Market, and he had to buy something for Baze, the starbird pendant bouncing lightly against his chest as he hopped down the Temple steps reminded him. He had heard they were selling Meyrah Leather at the west corner of the market this year and he thought the red would suit Baze’s hair.

He jumped the last few steps to hit the sand in a run as he rushed to the stall. He was supposed to meet Baze at the cured meats stall down the north corner and he'd like to surprise him before he got there. It's only after he's well on his way to their meeting point, straps of Meyrah Leather stuffed deep into his inner pocket, did he realize that the Force was moving strangely today. It's hum off centre, a rougher tune ringing from the direction of a weapons stall.

He approached the stall and the crowd of people surrounding it with caution. A large woman stood her ground against the gang looming over her table. Nothing of her swayed at the threatening way the Force flowed around them besides her long braid that almost swept the floor. Chirrut knew her from the registration day and her skin is glowing an alarming orange compared to it's usual red. He doesn't know what that meant but he had a feeling it wasn't a good thing.

"Listen here, missus, you take a table in our area means you answer to us. We're being generous, we're not even asking for blasters. Just a little uneti wood and we'll get going, okay?" the man leaned over, tongue sweeping across sharp teeth. The crowd behind crowed in agreement.

"You give me credits, I give you weapons. You give me nothing, I give you nothing. It's simple business," she stated and crossed her arms, "Now leave, you are scaring away my customers."

The head of the gang had his lips pull back in a vicious snarl, sharp teeth bared, "I'll show you who's gonna be scared-"

"Hello!" Chirrut shouted and walked with more purpose towards the stall, "Do you happen to have some uneti wood? Just this staff? Alright, I'll take it."

Before anyone could react, he swooped the staff from it's slot in the clay vase and tossed his bag of credits at the stall owner and marched off. He hoped it's enough for the staff and noted he will have to return and ask again but for now-

"Hey! That's my wood you're stealing, monk," Chirrut heard from behind him. He continued walking but turned around to speak to them. The further away from the stall and the general crowd of customers the better.

"But I paid for it, so it's not stealing. It was never yours unless you also have a bag of credits you could spare?"

"Give it back." he backed Chirrut into the centre of the vast marketplace where the crowd was most sparse. Chirrut stopped walking. He could feel the Force moving darkly and slowly surrounding him as the gang of hostiles do the same.

"I've taken nothing, there is nothing to give back," Chirrut planted the staff into the ground with two hands, his stance ready to slip into the third form of zama-shiwo.

"Chirrut!" he heard all of a sudden. He could recognise that voice from anywhere. He was far away enough he wouldn't be able to stop a fight from starting but he would sure be of help. So Chirrut does the wise thing and made the first move.

He whippped the staff right into the leader's face with a sickening crunch and tossed his robes in a flurry of cloth to blind another before landing a kick squarely into their chest causing them to fall in a puff of red sand. He felt a tremor behind him and slammed the wood straight into someone's foot. He interrupted the cry of pain with an elbow straight to the windpipe and used his foot to kick up his staff into the chin of another attacker. He swept them off their feet with the wood and used their abdomen as a springboard to hook his thighs around someone's neck, twisting his body in mid air to fling them straight to the ground and rolled away. He sprang to his feet just in time to hear the same voice.

"Chirrut!" he heard again. He looked up to see Baze slam a fist straight into someone's face before levying a swift kick to another.

"I'm here!" he answered as he slammed a head into the sand and swung his staff into someone's ribs. There seemed to be more and more people joining the fight. More gang members, more acolytes. He knew he would be in real trouble with the Elders after all this.

He sprinted through the chaos at Baze and grabbed his hand. He tugged him out of the fight and through the ring of onlookers. He's not sure where they were running to but he could still hear people chasing them and slipped into the thickest throng of people. Swiftly he ducked elbows and ignored wails and cries of distress. Suddenly he was jolted to the left and Baze tugged him into a tight crook between two buildings. They squeezed into it just quick enough to see their pursuers push their way through the crowd.

The tension in their bodies only left when the angry shouts faded into the usual din of the market with the faraway cries of the fight they left behind. Their heavy breaths filled the air between them and there wasn't a lot of air between them. Once again, Chirrut found himself face-to-face and close as could be against Baze. This time, they were chest to chest, foreheads sticking together in clammy sweat as they pant, read-faced from exertion.

"What," Baze gasped for breath, "what in the Force did you do this time, Chirrut?"

He could barely see him with how close their faces were, noses almost pressed together, but he could see the way the corners of Baze's eyes crinkled in amusement, heard the giddiness in his voice that Chirrut too could feel pumping through his veins, the Force singing loud in his ears.

"I started a fight."

Baze let loose a bark of laughter.

"You always start a fight."

They each had a hand on each other's necks, Chirrut's thumb feeling the edge of Baze's jawline and the light stubble starting to grow, his fingers feeling the hard beating pulse underneath. Baze's hand felt large, cupping his nape, his own thumb brushing the growing sideburns and the skin where his ear starts. Baze's grip was comfortably tight, a firm pressure he could lean into and Chirrut pinched one of the wonderful ears hidden beneath Baze's mane of hair and angles his face to slot neatly with his. Their noses slipped past each other. Their lips brushed the skin at the edges of their lips.

And they both jolt apart so violently that they both bang their heads against the clay walls behind them when they hear their names being called.

"I-I'm so so sorry, Acolytes," the initiate that found them stuttered, "I didn't mean to i-interrupt it's just the E-Elders have arrived and-"

"It's fine," Baze comforted, "there was nothing to interrupt." He gave Chirrut a look with raised brows and a brief tilt of the head.

Chirrut didn't know what to make of it.

"Come, let's see how much trouble Chirrut is in."

 

Baze didn't speak of their almost kiss. It was practically a kiss except no lips were involved. Well, lips were involved but no lips were touching each other. That wasn't really a kiss. Was it?

Chirrut, if he were honest, had not been thinking much of the kiss until now. Everything became chaotic after that day. The Elders put him on kitchen duty _during_ the lunch hours for a good week. Without Baze's supervision. He was dead tired after each lunch hour that he almost fell face first into his own lunch more times than he'd like to admit. It was just bad timing that then was when his application for early theoretical exams were accepted.

What little time he had left between sermons and his kitchen punishments was spent in the study halls with his holopad and others that he borrowed from the library. He would have documents open on two and type notes on his own to save time and stress on his eyes. He usually had a pile of data chips filled with scriptures on one side and used to have a bowl of pistab seeds on the other until one day he had nearly eaten a data chip instead in the middle of memorizing the main principles of the Force of Others. No more study snacks for Chirrut.

He had to cut his sparring sessions with Baze short to attend tutor sessions with Elder Pivbah. Meditation was more important as they kept him in focus, a state of being he definitely needed to be in all day if he wanted to pass these exams.

But now that he was done with his theoretical exams, that he had been awarded the sash of the Acolyte, all that focus had sunk into the not-kiss kiss that happened between them.

It wasn't a kiss, Chirrut concluded, but it had all the implications of a kiss. Chirrut could still remember how Baze's sweat smelled like from so close and how his pulse felt beneath his palm. The moment was now permanently embedded into his memory and every replay had his heart racing and his whole face heating up.

Chirrut sighed and left his meditative posture to flop onto the bed. Instinctively he reached out beside him, feeling the lack of warmth on Baze's side. Him and some other acolytes were out in the dunes on an assignment and wouldn't be back until tomorrow evening. He was glad he had the space to think alone in his own room but he didn't realize how hard it was to sleep without Baze's body heat until now.

"All is as the force wills it," he reminded himself before tucking Baze's pillow under his chin and attempted to sleep, enveloped in the fading scent of him.

 

Chirrut sat on the Temple steps waiting for Baze to arrive. He stood up to greet him when he saw the hover cart approach filled with crates of brightly coloured eggs.

Baze jumped off the back of the cart to hug Chirrut close. It was one of those hugs that he would tighten and shake Chirrut a little before letting him go, clasping his shoulders and shooting him Chirrut's favourite smile.

"Ready for the festival?"

"Just waiting for you."

Baze barked a laugh and slipped a hand round the nape of Chirrut's neck, bringing their foreheads together.

"I'll only be a minute," he softly said before he slipped past Chirrut to reach their dorms. Chirrut followed, trying to right his breathing once more.

The festival was for the completed Round of the Moon. It held significance for so many different faiths that congregate into the Holy City that it became a festivity for all of the people of NiJedha. There were performances and games and fireworks and food. It was a joyous time of celebrating new beginnings and accepting past mistakes.

Chirrut's favourite event was the Spilling. Several people sit on high stools above, mugs and glasses surrounding them. Each would have two large pints of their favourite alcohol and would clash their pints together with whoever they could reach before spilling the contents onto the mugs below. Some people liked to stand below, holding their own glass up high and letting the drinks soak through their clothes as their glass fills.

It was an act of acceptance, that the loss of something valuable wasn't a loss of hope. A mistake will bring joy in the end if not to you then to others.

Chirrut threw his head back in laughter as Baze tried to hide beneath the massive glasses they brought for the occasion. It was a futile task as what Chirrut thought was coosher beer overflowed from the glasses into Baze’s tunic. Chirrut gave up collecting with his glass and tried leaving his mouth open for the beer to pour into, laughing when he choked and did nothing to stop himself getting wet to the bone.

Baze was a wet dog with his poor tunic stained a red Chirrut doubted will ever get out but at least now it matched the Meyrah Leather tied into his hair. His braids hung in poor clumps at the side of his face and only one of his glasses was even moderately full but he's laughing a full belly laugh and has an arm around Chirrut's shoulders as they sang in celebration with the rest of the people.

They were a sticky drunken mess as they made their way through the food stalls. Drunk Baze hds a very firm fascination with dipping all he could find into the beer he had earned. He spoke even less than usual with more aggressive gestures. His approval of the balls of fried dough he had dipped liberally into the beer in Chirrut's glass comes in the form of a curt nod that shook his entire body and a thumbs up raised high for the stall owner to see.

He hadn't let Chirrut's shoulders go and Chirrut didn't mind. He too has had his arm around Baze the entire time as they made their way to the seating areas to watch the fireworks. They managed to grab a clean spot that let them sit and lean against the walls of a house, arms still wrapped around each other.

The stars were out bright and clear, only interrupted by the garlands strung between houses and shops. Chirrut knew the brilliant explosive colours that would soon paint the sky will look beautiful.

So he looked at Baze instead. His big beautiful Baze. Baze who looked at him back with soft dark eyes, whose fingers were playing with the hair at the back of his neck. Baze who now had Chirrut's hand dug deep into his wild mane, massaging his scalp through the sticky dried mess of hair. Baze who tilted Chirrut's head with a firm hand to press sticky chapped lips to one cheek and the other. Baze whose lips brushed so briefly against the tip of his nose before he brought Chirrut down to leave another kiss on his forehead. Baze who pressesd his face into the top of Chirrut's head and tucked him close as they hear the announcement of the start of the show. Baze who whispered that he would never leave his side into the damp mess of Chirrut's hair as they both watched the sky be painted in brilliant colours, covering the stars.

It was absolutely beautiful.

 

They completed their fifth duan together. Chirrut had an inkling of suspicion that Baze could have easily advanced him but Baze would admit to nothing. They passed their Exams with flying colours, Chirrut with higher marks for martial arts and Baze with higher marks for theory and scripture.

Chirrut and the rest of their batch who had passed were now waiting in one of the side halls for their ceremony. To shear their hair and gain the red sash of a Guardian of the Whills.

Chirrut currently wore no sash or even robe. He only had the black issued pants and boots on, his hair tied up with one of Baze's old strips of leather. Baze himself had yet to arrive. He trusted him to arrive on time but time was running short and he couldn't help but worry. The hum of the Force was being particularly loud today as well leaving Chirrut longing for the silence Baze's presence brought.

Baze entered a little after a Guardian's warning that 'the ceremony will start soon, please get ready.' He passed through the throng of anxious acolytes to Chirrut with ease. He cupped Chirrut's face with his hands and brought their foreheads together in his usual greeting. He had done this so often that Chirrut had learnt to reciprocate with his own hands cupping Baze's face through his wild hair, feeling the edges of his ears with the tips of his thumbs.

"Congratulations Chirrut Imwe."

"Congratulations Baze Malbus," Chirrut replied smoothly, "You are late, my friend."

"I was finishing a small project," he admitted and pulleds back to show his wrist now accessorized with a braid of red leather. Chirrut smiled, ignoring the Guardian's second warning to get ready.

He slipped his hands into his own hair to untie the leather that held up his ponytail. With deft fingers he tied the strap to his own wrist and lifted it up in an imitation of Baze. They share a quick smile before clasping each other's hands tightly but briefly and finally joining the end of the two lines of Higher Acolytes, ready to enter the Ceremonial Hall.

Their steps followed the beat of the drums in the hall. They walk side by side, the last pair in line, towards the altar where the Highest Elder stood, hands clasped together in prayer. Chirrut could only hear the sound of the beating drums and the rising thrum of the Force that left his body quaking with the need to jump and dance in celebration. Baze slipped his hand into his once or twice more to get him to calm down but even that was not as effective as usual.

They reached the altar both too slowly and too quickly. It felt, all of a sudden, like no time at all had passed since he first crashed into Baze on his first day until now, where they both were standing side by side, ready to receive their mark as a Guardian.

"May the Force of Others be with you," the Elder finished.

"And with you," they replied and bowed their heads to look at the stone floor.

Chirrut closed his eyes and heard the Guardians approach. His head felt lighter with each snip of hair that he watched fall gently to the floor. He saw Baze's face from the corner of his eyes. It was full of restrained excitement. He could feel it shake the Force that moved around him. He gripped Baze's hand in his.

When the shearing was done, the Guardians tied on the red sashes that mark their new titles. They straighten up and face the Elder once more.

"Guardian Imwe," Chirrut smiled wide at the new title, "Guardian Malbus. Now you are one with the Force."

"And the Force is with me," they answered.

Then Chirrut's face is being pulled towards Baze and a hard kiss is pressed onto his lips and a large hand gripped his newly shaved scalp. He couldn't hear anything above the cheers of their peers and the Force ringing his ears to bleeding. He had no time for the shock to settle as he sunk into the kiss and the slightly messy slide of soft lips against his. They pulled back for air and the hall cheered once more and Baze was tugging on his hand to pull him outside.

Chirrut didn't fight as he still processes the information that Baze Malbus, now Guardian of the Whills and the most beautiful person Chirrut had ever met, had kissed him. It didn't fully sink in until they're far away enough that the cheers had softened to a light din.

"Wait," Baze didn't wait, "Baze! Wait!" He snatched his hand back.

"Chirrut?" he turned.

"You kissed me." his voice sounded breathy even to him.

"D-did you not want me too?" Concern flitted across Baze's face, "I'm so sorry, Chirrut. It just felt like the right time and you just looked so bright-"

"Wait, you _like_ me?"

Baze paused.

"Chirrut, we've been dating for three standard years now."

" _What._ "

"We've been sleeping in the same bed?"

"I-"

"Remember? You asked me 'to never leave your side'. That is a courtship line in this area of NiJedha so I-I assumed that, uhm, h-have I been misunderstanding this entire ti-"

He was cut off by a large snort. He looked up to see Chirrut bent over laughing. He laughed so hard that he had to lean into Baze's body, holding tightly to his shoulders to keep steady. Baze gripped his hips on instinct to keep him from falling over.

"Oh, Baze. My gorgeous Baze," he pulled back, bringing their foreheads together, brushing their noses and letting their breaths fan against each other’s faces. He clutched Baze's face close like a treasure he never wanted to lose, "I have loved you since I first saw your beautiful face in that courtyard all that time ago. If we had been dating three years ago or five years ago or just today, it doesn't change a thing. I kriffing love you Baze Malbus, and you may kiss me whenever and where ever you like."

And Chirrut kissed him, like he had always wanted to. A slow but desperate press of lips. Baze had moved to wrap his arms entirely around him, to bring him as close as can possibly be. Chirrut clutched at Baze's shoulder and clutched the curve of his jaw and cheek so tightly he would worry he was bruising him if he wasn't currently occupied.

They slowed down to something softer and less rushed, fading to pecks as they caught their breath.

"If we've been dating this long, why haven't we kissed yet, Baze Malbus, oh wonderful heart of mine?" Chirrut panted. He was filled with glee as Baze's face fills with red to the tip of his now very prominent ears.

"I-I thought you weren't ready? I mean there were moments but we would always get interrupted like the Force itself did not will it."

"Yes!," Chirut groaned, "Force, so many wasted moments. And I do. I do want to kiss you. Many times. On the lips. And other places."

Chirrut ignored Baze's spluttering and switched places with him so he now had a hold on Baze's wrist, the one wrapped with the braided leather. He tugged him in the direction of their dorms with a smile full of bright teeth and gums.

"Now, let's go make up for time lost shall we?"


End file.
